Old dog learns new tricks at the Wasilla High School

When I accepted the English job at Wasilla High, after many seasons teaching every other grade in between, it was not my first rodeo, so to speak. But, it was my first time teaching high school, and during my first quarter of transition, I have thought a lot about my first dog.

Cow-Dog found me at a rodeo in Chama, New Mexico. I had one leg over the rail of the fence closest to the calf-roping event when a young woman with a lowered hat brim and a belt buckle the size of a small plate approached me. Next to her stood a matted, bone-thin, black sheep-herding dog.

“I’m gonna have to kill this dog if you don’t take it,“ she sputtered out between a wad of Copenhagen.

I knew better than to argue with a cowgirl. So I took the end of the rope that served as a leash.

That is how, with a couple hundred dollars in vet bills and one chewed up recliner later, I had myself a sheep dog turned Cow-Dog. And, a better name for a better dog could not be found.

After that chance encounter, Cow-Dog and I saw dozens of more rodeos together. Each time, I made sure to introduce him to the corralled stock.

“Mister Cow, this here be Cow-Dog.”

“Cow-Dog, this here be Mister Cow. Don’t bark.”

Soon enough, he forgot that he was really a sheep dog with a cow dog’s name, and we got along fine for several years.

Now, all these moons and a couple of dogs later, I feel for old Cow-Dog. Granted, I am probably not as dirty, hardly bone-thin, and I don’t have ear ticks. Or worms. But, I am definitely in a brand new rodeo.

“High-schooler, this here be Mrs. Forstner.”

“Mrs. Forstner, this here be a high-schooler. Don’t bark.”

The first day out of the chute and into the hallway I could tell I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. First off, I couldn’t believe how big these kids are. I mean tall. Really tall. Young men, barely up to my shoulders a mere three years ago in Wasilla Middle School, now tower over me by a foot or more. Plus, no more squeaking. Baritones, all of them.

Another thing, it isn’t just me working. My students have jobs. Real jobs. One student works as an emergency responder. Another is an assistant manager. Another a mechanic’s assistant. Their day planners look like a 500 piece jigsaw puzzle. Oh wait. High schoolers don’t use day planners. They have phones.

Seven times a day during a six-minute passing period, the mass of humanity passes me through the halls of the Warrior Nation, with one thousand phones: can you hear me now? They are the solutions for a small world so that now you won’t have to wait to get home to Google your date. The bell buzzes; doors close; halls empty. One thousand phones disappear, and class begins. Be Bold.

I have found that working at WHS is as real and up-close to kids and learning as anything I have ever experienced. It’s like sitting right next to the chutes, so close that you can hear the cowboys praying and Cow-Dog snoring.

In terms of rodeo, I have found the Daddy of ‘em all. Wasilla High offers 17 AP courses, more than any other Mat-Su school. The 60 different elective courses at WHS offer more choice possible than anywhere else. The 68- member staff is skilled, knowledgeable, with a work ethic worthy of any team roper. The 1100 strong Warrior Nation student body is a diverse, compassionate, and intelligent force. When the media portrays a failing public education, don’t look at Wasilla High. Somethin’ good is happening here.

(Cow-Dog eventually moved to a sheep ranch in northern Colorado where he became known as Shep and lived happily ever after.)

Emily Forstner teaches English I and Journalism at Wasilla High School.